


Who Wears Short Shorts

by lazarusthefirst



Series: Trope bingo [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Fluff, Humor, M/M, mentioned/past Stiles/Malia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3913693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarusthefirst/pseuds/lazarusthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Macklemore voice] I wear my ex-girlfriend's clothes, I look incredible</p><p>Stiles would later state for the record that he only agreed because he thought she meant Bermuda shorts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Wears Short Shorts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sarcasticfishes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasticfishes/gifts).



> My girlfriend broke my chronic writers block simply by demanding this. It's stupid and doesn't belong in this trope series TECHNICALLY but who gon stop me
> 
> Edit: Now with [fanart!](http://bicanthrope.tumblr.com/post/118683429745/who-wears-short-shorts-by-lazarusthefirst-so-this/)

One of Stiles’ favourite non-active activities was lying on Malia’s bed and watching her rearrange her room. Malia, who declared weekly that something “wasn’t right” and proceeded to change literally everything in her room, spring-cleaned more in a month than most people did in five years. 

‘If you weren’t this weird,’ remarked Stiles, ‘you know, your magpie behaviour would be way more of a problem.’

Malia paused in the act of digging through a box of sea shells she’d gathered from their trip to Lydia’s beach house the month before. ‘What do you mean, magpie?’

Stiles raised his eyebrows. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, mouth pressed against his hand. ‘What are you looking for?’

‘The pink one,’ said Malia, resuming her rummaging. Stiles left her to it, rolling over on to his back and listening to her bustle, grumbling whenever she stepped on something, humming a little song under her breath. It was a Sunday, their homework was done, and there was nothing to do but be lazy. Malia had her own ideas about how Sundays should be spent, but Stiles was content to just relax in her presence. 

‘I think I need more clothes,’ sighed Malia.

‘Me too,’ agreed Stiles. ‘It’s summer. I need more shorts.’

‘Wait,’ said Malia, leaping up like she’d scented blood. ‘I have prepared for this.’

Stiles would state later for the record that he only agreed because he thought she meant Bermuda shorts. 

‘This … isn’t exactly what I had in, um, mind,’ Stiles said, not entirely sure how he felt about the snug denim hugging his ass and _not much else_. 

Malia sat back on her haunches, eyes wide. ‘No, I’m happy with it,’ she said, nodding. ‘This is good.’

She’d sworn up and down that she’d bought them two sizes too big by accident because “I still didn’t understand sizes too well”, but the way she was looking at him was making him feel more and more like her own personal dress-up doll.

‘You don’t have to wear them out.’

‘Good, I’m not going to,’ said Stiles huffily. He craned around her to get a look in Malia’s gigantic mirror propped against the wall. ‘I look ridiculous. I look …’He turned slightly to the left, then the right. ‘Huh.’

The denim clung to his thighs with a firm grip that just about managed to keep all his bits where they were supposed to be. The back pockets were patched with a light floral pattern, and the ends of the legs - if you could call them that - were slightly faded and frayed. His shirt hung down to cover the button and zip, which was a relief because they hung so goddamn low that Stiles would be 80% happy trail if his shirt was any shorter. 

‘Take your top off,’ demanded Malia. 

‘I thought we said you couldn’t sexually harass me anymore.’

‘ _Stiles_.’

It was a warm day, but Stiles’ nipples still went hard when he stripped. Perky little traitors. 

‘I’m not walking around like this,’ he said firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Fine,’ said Malia, whose eyes were pretty fixed on Stiles’ midriff. ‘Wear this.’

Stiles stared at what she was holding up. It would be wonderfully small on Malia.

‘This is too small.’

‘It’s a crop top, it’s supposed to be - ‘

The rest of her sentence was punctuated by Stiles’ long, overly drawn out groan.

‘Red’s not my colour.’

‘Red is exactly your colour,’ Malia insisted, tugging the tiny scrap of whatever on over his head. 

Feeling very exposed, Stiles turned to face Malia, who was still sitting on the ground. Silently, she motioned with her hand for him to turn around, which he did, rolling his eyes but like the feel of hers on his body.

‘Well?’ he demanded, only half blushing now. 

‘Oh my god,’ Malia said finally, whipping off her own t-shirt. ‘Get down here.’

 

After that, Stiles didn’t resist Malia dressing him up in her clothes. They tried almost everything that would fit (and a lot that really wouldn’t), until Malia announced that all of her clothing smelled like Stiles, and the rest of the pack were complaining about mixed signals. 

‘It’s weird,’ Scott said, rubbing his nose. ‘I thought you two weren’t still, you know, fondu-ing.’

Stiles rolled his eyes. ‘We’re not, not _really_. Only like once or twice, when there’s _urges_. You know urges, Scotty, uncontrollable ones, like that time you and Kira - ‘

‘Stiles, no, please,’ Scott whispered, looking tortured, as everyone’s ears pricked up. 

Stiles flicked his nose and dodged Scott’s returning swipe, rolling away on the prickly grass until he nudged against a sleepy Lydia.

‘So why does Malia always smell like you then?’ asked Liam fretfully, who was still learning the ways of the wolf and thought the best way to scent something was literally pressing your nose to it (Stiles did nothing to discourage that, as Liam rubbing his nose into the dirt trying to catch their scent was still funny six times later). 

‘It is a mystery,’ said Stiles helpfully, wagging his fingers. 

‘Oh my god,’ grumbled Derek, who was “reading” on the front porch. ‘It’s because he’s been wearing her clothes.’

There was a brief silence, broken only by Scott slowly sitting up and staring at Stiles, the beginnings of a gigantic, shit-eating grin on his face. 

‘What’s that you’re reading Derek, “Eavesdropping for Beginners?”’ Stiles shot, glaring up at him.

Derek at least had the good grace to flush. ‘It’s true,’ he muttered, turning about five pages rapidly. 

‘Dude, are you?’ Scott asked.

‘Might be,’ sniffed Stiles. ‘Dude, so what. Gladiators wore shit like that all the time.’

Scott shrugged. ‘That’s cool, I guess,’ he said, and lay back down. Lydia, however, shot up.

‘Pause,’ she said commandingly, and everyone froze as she lowered her sunglasses so she could look at Stiles properly. ‘Do you mean that she’s got you wandering around in a vest and her Daisy dukes?’

Stiles swallowed. ‘Um, usually a crop top.’

Derek flung his book on to the grass - it was “Watership Down”, Stiles could see the rabbits on the cover - and stalked back into the house,muttering about going to the bathroom.

‘It’s no big deal,’ Stiles said, as Lydia whipped out her phone. Scott lay back down, laughing softly as he pillowed his head with one arm, the other lazily scratching his belly. 

‘You’re all just jealous,’ Stiles decided, lying down too and trying to ignore Lydia tapping away on her phone. Soon there was a quick round of beeps from Lydia’s phone, and a pleased ‘Malia learned how to send pictures.’

‘Aw crap,’ muttered Stiles, as Scott and Liam practically climbed over him to get to Lydia’s phone. Derek reappeared on the porch like the worlds least-subtle creeper. 

‘I could never pull that off,’ Scott said flatly.

‘Well, not with that attitude,’ said Kira, who they all thought had been listening to her iPod, but was now sitting up with an odd glint in her eyes. 

‘I see what you mean about the, uh, gladiator thing,’ Derek mumbled, throwing a few quick glances at the pictures on the phone before side-stepping awkwardly away.

Stiles threw out a hand. ‘See! The history guy knows. Thanks Derek, I knew there was a reason I kept you around.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘That Scott kept you around,’ Stiles amended, glad the subject had shifted slightly away from his denim-clad ass. 

They had to abandon the subject after that so Stiles could give a beat down to Scott and Liam, who had begun relentlessly chanting “Fashion show, fashion show, fashion show”. The fight didn’t last long, but Stiles thought he’d acquitted himself fairly well against two werewolves who were laughing almost too hard to stand. It took Scott a whole seven seconds to pin him. Personal best. 

 

When Scott turned up at Malia’s next weekend, ostensibly to “return a book”, Stiles wasn’t even surprised. He took it in his stride, watching Scott’s jaw drop as his eyes followed his bare midriff and thighs as he walked around the room feeling just a little bit cute. 

He didn’t sign up for the whole pack landing on the doorstep barely 5 minutes later, but there was a lot you couldn’t plan for when dealing with werewolves. 

They made extra-alcoholic punch and toasted Malia, who accepted it with zero grace, announcing that she was going shopping next week for his and hers miniskirts, and even Derek showed his face from where he’d been hiding inside the house. 

‘I think I could rock a dress,’ Scott mused, arm thrown over Kira’s shoulder.

‘You could,’ said Kira and Liam at the exact same time, and then there was a lot of blushing until Derek said ‘I wore short-shorts once.’

Lydia choked on her punch.

‘What?’ Derek demanded. ‘It was the nineties. Shut up.’

Stiles couldn’t help eyeing Derek’s legs appreciatively. ‘Yeah, I could see that.’

Derek’s face went the same colour as the punch.

Later, after Malia had removed a very punch drunk Lydia and Kira before they could start stripping, and allowed Liam to drive home as he couldn’t look Scott in the eye anymore, Stiles found Derek around the side of the house, facing the woods. 

‘You’re gonna cause a car crash, walking around like that,’ Derek said into his cup. Stiles rolled his eyes and his hips. 

‘Jealousy is a disease, Derek,’ Stiles said saucily, ruining the effect slightly by hiccuping. ‘Get well soon.’

Derek’s eyes ran up and down Stiles’ body, from his white crop top with a tiny flower over the heart, to his favourite faded Daisy dukes, lingering on the soft white of his thighs and the hair on his stomach. Stiles swallowed, a tremor running through his body. 

‘I’m not jealous,’ Derek said, voice low. He straightened up, leaving his cup on the windowsill. ‘Not of you, anyways.’

Derek was suddenly in his space, and Stiles got a very sudden reminder of just how much skin he had on show when Derek pressed up against him, breathing him in, hands grazing his hipbones. The shock of skin on skin was so suddenly intimate that Stiles gasped, recoiling slightly but leaning immediately back into the touch. 

‘You are so fucking distracting,’ Derek muttered, breath tickling Stiles’ chin. ‘Walking around like that. Just inviting everyone to look, like it’s nothing.’

Stiles forced himself to look Derek in the eye, and licked his lips. ‘Feels pretty good,’ he said. ‘People looking, I mean.’

Derek’s eyes flickered downward again. ‘Do you like when I look?’

Stiles grabbed Derek’s hand and pressed it to his ass, seized by a moment of sheer _got-to-get-laid_ desperation coupled with genuine arousal that Derek Hale couldn’t take his eyes off him.

‘Like it better when you touch,’ he breathed, feeling Derek’s hand tighten, the other on his hip sliding up to palm his chest. 

Derek’s mouth pressed against his, hot and hard, the taste of punch sweet on his lips. Stiles gasped and let Derek kiss him again, hands clinging to his shoulders as their bodies pressed together. He felt drunk on sun and skin and the heat between them, and Derek slipped a hand down the front of his shorts and worked him until Stiles was biting his lip and grazing his ass on the wall behind them. 

‘You ruined these shorts,’ said Stiles, still shaking, but wrapped in Derek’s arms and feeling pretty good about everything.

Derek kissed his neck. ‘I’ll buy you more,’ he promised. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://thetrojeans.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/lazarusthefirst/)


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